Chapter 145: Not My Way

Things are not going my way.

Currently I'm walking toward Quen and Anselm's rather disastrous battlefield, for some reason they've deigned to take the fight out of the north and gone ahead to destroy more than a few buildings the further down they went.

Beside me is my newly attained…well, I wouldn't call her an ally, but I suppose puppets should work just fine, yes, puppet.

I chose not to heal her fully just yet, even though she's nearly drained of all her blood having being skewered like a piece of meat not a minute ago, I don't trust her not to deliriously try something.

To mitigate that I've left in one of the bone spikes that stabbed her thigh and relegated two of my newly created Ghouls to carrying her like a bag of fertilizer.

Although, getting them to do so turned out to be much more difficult than I imagined. I tried several ways of ordering the Ghouls to pick and carry the woman but all failed.

In the end I had to literally have the stretch out their arms and deposit her shivering body in them, having them obediently follow after that.

The stress makes me realize that my undead are truly mindless, so mindless that the only thing they respond to is violence and simple movements like walking and running.

Fortunately, part of the mass unlock I achieved back in Frozia after killing the Fourth Gamma happened to include a ritual for the very purpose of creating a far more intelligent undead creature.

With much of my 'army' of zombies cut down or exploded to bits, I'm tempted to perform the ritual here and now just to have one more edge over the Mayor, a man who has yet to make an appearance.

This just begins the few reasons why things are absolutely not going my way. Not as much as I'd like anyway.

By now Kaylin should be by my side, in fact, she should have been by my side before I got introduced to the Hunter Trio. 

But according to what I'm getting from Shaco, she's yet to fully recover her mana and her strength.

This much is understandable, after all, one can't sit in a dungeon full of filth and decay, immersed in darkness and start fighting the moment they step out.

But I've got to make that demand. I don't want to, but I have to. 

For some reason it seems like I'm forced to ask the worse of Kaylin each time we speak, but I'll need her for the fight against the Mayor. If he's been watching, which I am sure he has. He knows many of my weaknesses and my strength.

In fact, it's very likely he already has a plan in place to counter anything I can throw and dish out just as much, if not more.

Given that there are only so many tricks up my sleeve, I'll be relying on my comrades. 

Which brings me to the second reason things are not going my way.

For whatever messed up reason, it seems Anselm isn't as invulnerable as he was before. He feels far more pain than he used to.

I mean, he only got his arm thorn off and yet. This is the same Anselm that had a gapping wide hole put in him when the Bull General speared him through the chest and pinned him to the wall.

He recovered rather quickly after that, fully even.

But now, his arm has yet to regenerate.

His left sleeve hangs empty by his side as he swerves deftly in the air, dodging another arrow explosive arrow from Quen. Gripping the mace in his remaining hand he descends.

The mace glows a bright blue and Quen struggles, his quilt empty and the blades in his hands no match for what Anselm is about to bring down.

"Anselm!" I yell, consciously tugging on my mana within him to slow him down and stop him killing my second puppet.

He feels the pull and turns, an angry glare fixed on me.

Smiling sheepishly, I shout out a word of apology and tell him what's going on, "Change of plans, we're sparing that one."

"What?" He heaves, out of breath from running all around chasing the unreasonably nimble archer.

"I made a deal." I grin and look to Quen who is still set in a defensive pose, although his feet are set and ready to scramble at the sight of any opening of escape, "Quen, I've got Red right here, your leader? Want to say hello?"

He looks shiftily between Anselm and I.

I save him the trouble and walk forward, my mindless Ghouls following.

"What…what have you done!" He screams, enraged at the mere sight. In anger he snatches her out of the rigid arms of my ghouls and falls to his knees with her in his arms.

"You wouldn't want to pull that out." I mutter a quick word of advice, watching him caress the woman, his eyes glaring at the bone spike still embedded within her thigh, "She'll bleed out what's left of her blood in seconds and die a rather…cold death if you do."

The man himself is not save from injury, Anselm really gave him a run for his money and if I hadn't interfered, he would most likely be dead. I can see a clear sign of Anselm's relentless, and ruthless attacks on his side.

He's bleeding from several punctures – likely where Anselm's spiked mace made touchdown – and bruised terribly, I wouldn't doubt if that side of his ribcage is shattered.

Still, I commend him for still living, for still struggling. He almost reminds me of me, but now I'm far different.

"I can heal her, and you if you work for me. I've already given her a different deal for her services…your life."

The man doesn't deign to look at me, still caressing her cheeks. "You killed Sator didn't you." He whispers.

"He would have killed me." I answer without a beat, "And I would have left your Red to die had she not agreed to serve me. Now I offer you the same choice, serve me or begone from my sights."

Picking her off the ground he finally looks to me, a burning hatred in his eyes, "Fine. I'll do it. But only because of you Red." He says, looking back down at her. To me he spits, "Now let us go so I can get her to a healer."

"I know a really good one, Maylin, underground healer. But…I am not keeping you here, am I?"

Hearing those last words, they turn and walk away. A crowd of people either too insane or too curious for their own good to know when to leave a battle scene like this clears a path for them.

"Shaco." 

Slithering out of my sleeve and up my shirt the serpent hisses, "Master?"

"Follow them, let me know if they try anything funny."

Wordlessly, Shaco drops down to the earth and goes about his new assignment.

"So what now?" Anselm asks, holding onto his missing arm.

I turn to him, a look of annoyance clear on my face, "How about this. While we wait for Kaylin or the Mayor to arrive, whichever comes first, you tell me just how your arm isn't regenerating."